A Bolt Out Of The Blue
by Frosty Autumn
Summary: Before there was Arkham City, regular people lived in the area. Cathy stayed behind during the evacuation and is now paying the price. Surrounded by inmates, she doesn't stand a chance. When she sneaks into the Olympus Club for shelter, a temperamental Maxie Zeus mistakens her for a goddess. Cathy must now keep up the charade if she ever hopes to make it out of Arkham City alive.
1. Stranded

**Rated T for violence and mild language (on par with what is presented in the games, nothing more)**

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If daytime was unsafe in Arkham City, then that made nighttime a terrifying game of survival. Catherine Jacob panted in alarm as she flew across the length of her apartment's living room, leaping over the tangle of blankets serving as her make-shift bed, stuffing anything else useful into a drawstring bag that had been prepared and ready to go for weeks. A loud, violent _BAT BAT BAT _pounded on her apartment door. Somebody was out there with the intent to reduce it to splinters. Rough, muffled voices came from the other side.

"Don't bust yourself, Joey, it probably ain't worth it."

"Nah, c'mon, help me out. There's gotta be loot in there, why else would it be locked?"

Adrenaline burned through Cathy's limbs, making her fumble in throwing the bag's strings over her shoulders.

It had been packed for days while she awaited rescue, but many weeks had already gone by. Nobody came, and she had concluded hopelessly that nobody was coming. These guys outside in the hallway were no rescue team.

Someone had to have known she was still behind Arkham City's walls, among others. Innocent people at the mercy of the worst Gotham City had to offer. They had protested. Many had evacuated the area when the proposal for a prison was approved, but some people would not be forced out of their homes so easily - Cathy being one of them. Bruce Wayne became their symbol, their hope. If one of Gotham's most influential people could get behind their plight, then they had a favourable chance - that morality, ethics, and decent human compassion would win the day.

Not even Gotham's favourite son could save them. The few people who opted to stay in the area were stranded and left to fend for themselves.

Power and plumbing soon shut down after that. Before the pipes cut off supply, Cathy had filled her bathtub, sinks, bowls, soap dishes, anything with a dent in it, to carry water. It grew stale after a couple days, but desperation made almost anything taste heavenly and it had to turn much worse before she'd refuse a sip of it. Every drop was valuble. She had also shaved the ice in her freezer with a spoon before it could melt, catching the snow in a bowl, getting a decent amount to drink out of it. It tasted sharp and sour, having absorbed many odors of foods the freezer once held, but survival came first. Her lips still puckered as she drank anyway.

Rhythmic bashing rang out from the other side of the door. Cathy could see the knob rattling from the force. The locks weren't going to hold much longer!

"Almost got it."

The reason why Cathy never slept in her bedroom anymore was this. Sleeping in the main area made it easier to hear who was skulking around in the hallways, and these two (or possibly more) guys startled her awake. Forcing sleep away, she carried on implementing the escape she planned weeks ago in case something like this happened. She knew she was going to be scared if it did, but never thought she'd be this pulse-poundingly scared. The jackhammering of her heart was right in her skull.

She swiped the half-used book of matches off the wooden sidetable and shoved them into her pocket, having no time for stuffing it into the drawstring bag.

"Couple more outta do it, Donny."

Cathy resisted a squeal of terror, feeling like an animal being chased, soon to be cornered. She hoped she had everything she needed because there was no time to think. With the drawstring bag bouncing on her back, she bolted into her bedroom to remove the plywood square blocking her window. Her fingernails fumbled in peeling the duct tape off, she was shaking too much. Every resounding boom from her front door stopped her heart for a split second. Finally finding enough tape to pinch with her fingers, she yanked the strip right off, and the other three sides came with it. After the plywood square was out of the way, Cathy thrust open her window with little care to the squeak and lifted herself through and onto the fire escape.

An enormous wall faced her, a mere fifteen feet across the fire escape, the wall that trapped her inside Arkham City. Cathy stumbled momentarily getting her other foot out of the window because the metal slide-frame snagged the sole of her ratty sneaker, but she managed to get out. She attempted to land cat-like to keep the fire escape's metal rods from rattling, but the thing was several decades old already. The shock of late-November cold outside didn't affect her, the building inside was already the exact same temperature. Still, the chilly breeze on her cheeks sent a shiver through her body. Righting herself, she reached quickly back into her room and put the plywood square back into place. It could buy her some time if the thugs breaking into her apartment found her and gave chase.

The wood was back in it's spot before a tremendous, crackling crash thundered beyond it. Cathy jolted and immediately ran down the slippery stairs dotted with snowflakes, refusing to look back, as if doing so would somehow alert the two thugs where she was. Cold air sank like a rock in her lungs as she panted it in and out, and it scraped her throat raw. But the need to escape made her feel almost nothing at all. The frigid metal was stinging her fingers, but she needed to hold on tight to keep from slipping down the stairs.

The last landing of the fire escape was still three floors above the ground. Cathy unlatched the rung ladder from it's hook above, let it slide through her hands, and then climbed down.

Living in her apartment for three weeks meant no news of what level of chaos was going on outside. Oh, she heard things of course. Many things that she wished she could erase from her memory. One man, five floors below in the streets, begged for someone during seemingly being beaten. "Help, please!" he screamed, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. His voice got further and further away as if he was being dragged off. Cathy never dared step outside. Afraid that someone would climb down the fire escape from above, she shut off her window with the plywood square to give her apartment the appearance of abandonment. While that wouldn't have discouraged looters at all, in the time and noise it would take for Arkham's prisoners to get through the window, Cathy would have had enough time to open her at-all-times-locked-and-double-wedged door and take her chances in the hallways.

Cathy stepped off the ladder, splashing onto wet pavement. Arkham City's wall and the apartment building were so close that they created a wide alley. Outside the safety of her familiar home, away from shelter, she now felt completely exposed. The air was unsettlingly quiet.

Lawless territory.

Clad in a thin, winter coat, Cathy huddled inside the collar to warm her face. It's not that she wasn't prepared for the weather. Underneath the jacket she wore two t-shirts, one long-sleeve shirt, and a fleecy sweater. There was also a pair of jeans underneath her black, clingy sweat pants. It was all she could do to not freeze to death during the nights. Even though she had a book of matches, building a fire in her living room would have been risky, if not stupid. She had candles though, and for the first few days she lit a few to warm her hands. When the rescue team took longer and longer to show up, she rationed the matches, and then altogether stopped using them in case they would be needed in an emergency.

Cathy couldn't stay standing in the one spot, but she had no idea where to go, and felt like a trapped animal again. She stared at the alley's end which opened up to a street just on the side, and trash bag strewn sidewalks. It all looked empty, like the City was deserted, but Cathy knew better. She pulled her black wool beanie further down her ears and tucked all of her stray dirty-blond hair underneath, completing an unintentional but fortunate hobo-like appearance that made her look as unfeminine as possible.

She didn't have to remind herself why that was a good thing.

Snowflakes settled on Cathy's lashes. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, alone and hearing nothing but the atmospheric hum of cold wind swishing through her ears.

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**A/N: Throughout the Arkham games, Maxie's been mentioned but never seen. There were lots of references to him going through intense electro-shock therapy and rumored to be dead. Of course, if you played the game, you can see that the Olympus Club has all it's lights on, so "plausibly" he could be in there, right?**

**This story was partly inspired by a comment Youtube user kNIGHTWING01 made on his Arkham City playthrough that I was watching about a year ago. He said at one point in front of the Olympus building that since the lights were on, maybe Maxie Zeus really was hiding out in his club.**  
**Throughout the story, I might borrow just one or two elements from the one Animated Series episode Maxie Zeus made an appearance in.  
**  
**Hope you are all enjoying yourselves so far!**


	2. The Escape

The alley concealed Cathy deeply in shadow, but not enough to blend in seamlessly. She didn't want to just hide, though, she wanted to disappear entirely, out of this horrid place. The thought was already like a broken record in her mind. For weeks on end, she was frequently angry with herself for stubbornly staying behind during the evacuation, even hated herself for it. Her living space of two years was no Wayne Manor, but, at the time, it was the principle of the thing.

There was no anger anymore now, not when fear left no room for it.

When Arkham City went live, the hope was over, and the people left behind scattered. Cathy had no idea if her neighbors managed to get out or if the prisoners got to them first, and the thought haunted her for all this time during self-captivity. She burrowed her chin in her jacket's collar, fighting back the sting in her sinuses, forcing her eyes open to keep from crying. She wanted to go home to her dad.

Brian Jacob had begged his daughter to leave Park Row as soon as plans commenced for the establishing of Arkham City. Cathy told her dad not to worry, that the plan would fall through, that the mega-prison was too much of a rights violation to pass. As soon as the containment border was set, people inside the wall were refused allowance to leave. Some managed to escape by bribing TYGER guards, but others with nothing of worth were viciously turned away while looking down the barrel of a sniper rifle, poised to shoot if a single objection arised.

Timidly, Cathy craned her neck to the sky to get her bearings, though she didn't feel comfortable leaving such a vulnerable spot unguarded, and was unable to shake off the impression that inmates from hundreds of feet away were aiming for it right now. She didn't want any of her body parts further than an inch from the rest, like she would somehow cross invisible lines, or maybe trigger an alarm to her whereabouts.

Arkham City's wall was taller than she even imagined before. Turrets poked the clouds above, and the wall itself was topped off with curling barbed wire. Bluish spotlights appeared like tiny pinpricks up above, serving as eyes to watch everyone within Quincy Sharp's borders. For the first time in weeks, Cathy was seeing artificial, electrical light. Her own building had been completely blacked out, but each apartment building in the distance had one or two lit windows, streetlamps were working, and the slime-green neon glow of the Ace Chemicals sign loomed from the sky. Just one unlucky turn after another.

Cathy knew she had to start moving immediately. It was only a matter of time before those intruders noticed the removable slab of wood whilst ransacking her bedroom. Her breath shuddered in little puffs that floated and disappeared into the night. Her legs felt doughy and unsupportive. But she had to leave the alley. For her own sake.

The comforting pressure from the beanie clinging to her forehead kept her on Earth, seemingly keeping all her thoughts inside, but the rest of her body felt like mush from anxiety. _Go, _her mind forced in desperation, spurring her numbing legs into motion.

Moving quickly, she pressed her back tight to the brick wall of her apartment building, deep into the shadows. Her shoes made squelchy noises on the pavement. In trying to keep her feet quiet, they sounded amplified, like stepping on glass. Her teeth clenched as she tried to soften her step, but that was only slowing her down. Cautiously, she peeked around the corner, risking a sliver of streetlamp light on top of her beanie. She was immensely grateful now that she remembered to bring it, for her light-colored hair would have acted as a lighthouse beacon otherwise.

The last of her platinum-blond dye was petering out. Cathy frequently dyed her hair lighter than her natural, mousy color, but, understandably, there were more important things on her mind when news broke that Old Gotham was converting into a super prison. She had also removed her nose stud piercings long ago. She wasn't quite sure why, but instinct told her that it wasn't safe nowadays to wear anything that garnered attention or caught someone's eye.

The road and sidewalk ahead glistened from melted snow. It could have easily been a quaint, early-winter picture of city life if one didn't know the horrors lurking just out of sight. Cathy hadn't known an exact time since the blackout - her alarm clock was a plug-in, her cell-phone had turned into a useless, expensive paperweight, and she didn't own a watch. It was difficult to tell if it was currently late evening or early morning. But she needed to find shelter before the sun came up, or else she was going to be a sitting duck in broad daylight.

Cathy watched the street beyond and knew that it was the path she'd have to take, out into the open. There was no other choice. Her apartment building was already compromised, there was no going back, not even to another suite within it. Looters would just keep coming back.

The coast _seemed_ clear. But the more Cathy looked, the more hiding places seemed to appear out of nowhere. What if someone was behind that fence? That bus bench? That dark spot in the corner of the building across? Cathy retreated back into the safety of the alley's darkness and searched for a weighted object to test if the street was truly deserted. Finding a plastic, green milk-crate, she wound up and swung it into the lit street. The crate soared and landed in a bounce. It spun in air and landed again, getting further and further, like a skipping rock on a lake. When it tumbled and slowed over thirty feet away, Cathy stopped breathing to listen hard.

The same atmospheric hum of outside was the only sound. She waited it out, certain to give time for prisoners within even a two-mile radius to investigate and make themselves heard. For what she guessed must have been two minutes passed, she dared a small peek around the corner, ready to duck back in if she saw any movement in the street. She squinted her small, green eyes at every possible hiding place, but the street remained deserted.

Now was as good a time as ever. Pressing her back against the building to literally scrape alongside it, Cathy stepped away from the darkness and out into the open. Not wishing to linger, she continued swiftly to the nearest dark patch off to her right. Trash bags and stoops impeded her progress, but she much rather would have stepped on abandoned garbage than walk under a streetlamp.

The lumps in her drawstring bag jabbed her spine roughly, but she ignored the discomfort. The closer her body was to the wall, the safer she felt. Her eyes had never worked so hard in her life; they darted here and there, up and down, side to side, on constant surveillance, all around her.

Back in the alley she had been able to stare at her surroundings so intensely that they became mapped out in her mind. Simply moving to the side changed the picture into a different perspective that she hadn't scouted yet. But she knew she couldn't continue the process all night, especially when she was uncertain how much longer the darkness would last. She needed a place fast; time to think, time to plan an escape out of Arkham City.

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**A/N: Just a heads up everyone, Maxie won't be appearing for a couple more chapters. I'm setting the mood and morale of Arkham City for a bit, but don't worry, Maxie will appear soon. I'm mapping Cathy's journey from Park Row to the Amusement Mile.**

**And on another note, I gotta tell you guys, I was blown away by your response to the first chapter 0_0 I mean...wow! Three reviews, four favorites, and six alerts? I usually don't even get ONE of those whenever I post a first chapter. I...I don't know what to say, guys! I suppose this just means that I'm gonna have to give you all a story that'll blow you away *rolls up sleeves in preparation* I'll do my best not to disappoint you all! Chapters will now also be getting longer from now on.**


	3. Thirty Days Has November

Cathy reached a shoulder-height brick wall that served as a fence to the next apartment complex. It wasn't going to shield her completely, but at the moment, it was a safe haven. She crouched behind it to pause and calm her racing heart, feeling like a soldier trapped behind enemy lines.

_Keep a clear head, keep a clear head, I just need to find an exit,_ she coached herself. The phrase kicked into repeat in her mind, over and over and over until the letters merged to form one long train of a mantra. _Keepakleerhed, keepakleerhed..._Even in her mind her words were breathless.

Once-familiar surroundings were now strange and perverse. Nothing had changed really since Arkham commenced - dimensions, architecture, and color remained - but it all somehow gained a twisted appearance to Cathy now, like the trapped inmates were a contagion deep inside the city, spreading just underneath the tar, mortar, and concrete. Turning this place into a prison was an infection just beneath Gotham's skin, damaging it from the inside out. A city was never meant to be a prison. Hard to believe that she once walked these streets with no fear.

She imagined watching Gotham City from a helicopter, taking in the enormous skyscrapers of the fancy end, and then the run-down, greyish spot across the bridge - Old Gotham, now known as Arkham City. In the center of it all would be that eyesore, Wonder Tower. That was probably how it got it's name, because it was a wonder it was even commissioned at all; it looked like a danger to low-flying planes.

Cathy could have used a bird's eye view now, she had no idea where she was going. Chilly air stuck tightly to her skin like a new layer, one which stubbornly refused to come off. Still, she rubbed her cheeks vigourously, both to warm her face and her hands. Her nose went numb long ago and her lips were cracked and rough. Hugging herself to keep heat inside her jacket, she looked skyward to try and find a landmark. The courthouse was definitely close by because the vertical, red blinking logo of the Monarch Theater was in sight. Or rather, the 'M NARCH THEA R'. She couldn't tell from this far away if the missing letters were burnt out or smashed in.

Opposite to the theater, on Cathy's left side, was a pink and blue neon-blinking sign, inmistakeably in the shape of a woman. Cathy turned away from the Live Nudes sign distastefully. She hadn't seen or heard any women around in a long time so perhaps the sign was advertising an empty building, but still, Cathy didn't want to imagine what any woman stuck in here would be subjected to.

**YOU ARE UNDER CLOSE SURVEILLANCE** a sign plastered on another building warned her. There were dozens like it in the City.

Listening hard for voices and hearing none, Cathy slipped out of her spot and continued slinking by. The lack of prisoners so far made her feel a little more agile, maybe even just a tiny smidge braver, but then again, it was eerie. Criminals were still in here, everywhere, and it was only a matter of time before she'd spot an orange jumpsuit. She couldn't afford to slip up and be seen.

Yellow and black stripes appeared up ahead near an alcove in the City wall. Caution strips! An exit! Cathy's heart leaped. She wanted to sprint for it, and even felt the spark in her feet, but fear and desperation didn't make her _that_ stupid. The area around the alcove was empty, making the whole thing feel like a trap. Carefully, Cathy approached, hiding wherever possible; in the shadows, behind a dumpster, behind the hollow shell of a burnt car.

The alcove was just twenty feet away. Using the same strategy as before, Cathy plucked whatever trash was on hand that was good enough to throw. She had no idea what she was grabbing off the ground near her feet, it was simply a mound of warped metal, probably deformed due to it's proximity to the burning car, but it would make an excellent clattering noise.

Winding up, Cathy pitched the object and sent it spinning through the air. It's _clang _upon landing echoed even better than the plastic crate_._ After a bounce or two, it skittered to a halt beside more piled garbage. Cathy ducked behind the car and waited, bracing for a spray of bullets from the alcove or an authoritative shout.

None came. Did the TYGER guards even patrol the exits?

Nobody appeared. Evidently, the streets in this surrounding area were just as empty as the last one. Cautiously, Cathy slipped out from behind the car and swiftly made for the alcove. Reaching the halfway point between her goal, the sight of bright orange startled her. Eyes widening, she froze in her tracks, nearly slipping on the slick street. Two prisoners were already in the alcove!

...Only they were lying down.

Cathy's body tingled, trying for force her to turn around and find another exit, but she didn't know where another would be. She could search for days and still not find another one. Maybe this was the only one. Taking care to tread as lightly as possible, she risked a closer look. Perhaps the two prisoners were knocked out and abandoned after a territorial brawl. She was doubtful that they were sleeping, no one would choose a bed of cold, snowy, spacious concrete, not when there were a million and one corners, crevices, and materials for makeshift shelters.

Cathy collected a few pebbles from the ground and aimed for the bodies. They plinked and skittered, and one even managed to hit a prisoner in the eye, but the men did not stir. Not even a twitch. Out cold, definitely. She tip-toed to the mouth of the alcove. It was better to pass through now before the two woke up.

She almost stepped on the yellow and black stripes before she found something else was painted on the floor. The word DANGER appeared twice in bold white letters above the strip. What did that mean? She searched the alcove but couldn't see anything that made the word DANGER necessary. A bad feeling bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

She also couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her. Her neck prickled. The prisoners were the closest thing in sight. She looked down at the one lying to her right, on his stomach. His eyes were open, staring directly at her.

Cathy jumped, clapping a hand to her mouth. Her legs wheeled back, hurling her into another burned car. The prisoner continued staring, didn't even blink. With a sickening lunge in her stomach, Cathy suddenly knew that the men were not unconscious. Acid burned in her throat. She wanted to puke but kept a hand stamped over her mouth to ride it out, trying to look at anything but the two dead bodies before her.

Finally able to get a hold of herself after a nauseating half-minute, Cathy stiffly unfolded her arms and forced herself to carry on. Avoiding the prisoner's ceaseless watch, she approached the alcove again, and spotted something that she missed the first time. An odd, security camera-like device stared at her from the ceiling with it's souless eye. It tracked her movement when she stepped side to side to test it. Were the TYGER guards watching her? Hopefully they would notice her lack of Arkham City uniform, maybe they'd allow her through.

When she stepped onto the yellow and black caution stripe, an odd whirring noise froze her in her tracks. It was hard to pinpoint just where the mechanical noise was coming from, but it sounded like it was winding up. It seemed to be coming from the camera. Did that mean someone behind it had seen her? Or was this what the DANGER was warning against?

Cathy took a step back uneasily. The whirring noise died down and everything was calm again. Suspicious, Cathy bent down and picked up a dirt clod and tossed it into the alcove. Like a shot, the camera sprang to life, lined up, and the dirt clod exploded into a cloud of dust. Cathy sprang back in shock. It happened so fast that she hadn't seen ammunition come from anywhere, the dirt clod merely burst into black mist. It wasn't a security camera, it was a device meant to keep prisoners inside - at all costs.

She backed away quickly, spun around, and left the exit behind. There was no leaving this place! She had to find another one, she had to look for another exit.

The Solomon Wayne Courthouse was just down the street. Beyond it, peeking above the tall buildings, she saw with dread that there were less stars than before, and the once-black sky was lightening. _Dammit!_

With her bag thumping on her back, she quietly ran for courthouse. As a pillar of justice it had to be a stronghold for the innocent left behind, it had to. Perhaps even her neighbors were inside. While Mayor Quincy Sharp did commission for Arkham City's go-ahead, he wouldn't have let a government-operated building be taken over by the very people sentenced within it.

Nobody stood on the enormous stone steps of the courthouse's front entrance, but it was too out in the open, elevated, and facing another street. Cathy wasn't going to take the chance. Squeezing past a few broken bars in an iron fence off to the side, she entered the side yard complete with benches and a few trees planted in rectangular holders.

Slipping into the narrow alley behind the building, she found a heavy, metallic door. Testing the handle, it actually swung open. That wasn't good news. Still, Cathy needed to find somewhere to hide during daylight hours. A small hiding spot was all she needed; a room to barricade herself in, a nook behind broken furniture, an abandoned office, anything.

Closing the door behind her and twisting the knob to prevent a click, Cathy stepped into a heavily damaged passageway. Silence. Absolute silence. The light inside was dim but just enough was visible. She dared to take a few slow steps forward, on alert. The passage led to a set of double doors, and set of basement stairs to her left. A damp smell wafted from deep below, making the basement seem like a cavernous mouth. She couldn't imagine why anyone would go down there...which was why it was the better option.

Before descending the stairs, she tested a step. Each plank appeared splintery and warped, but they seemed solid. She was already halfway down when something cold and prickly hit the back of the neck. A sharp inhale went through her nose and she froze. The feeling jabbed her neck again and it coldly trailed down her neck. Her shoulders lowered in relief; water. Just water. It was dripping from the ceiling. She continued on.

Reaching the bottom, a tiny splash told her that the basement floor was soaked. Her shoes sloshed through collected water that drained into grates in the floor. A row of three rusted, dented lockers stood on her left. Squinting through the dim light, she spotted a holding cell with bars missing.

Not exactly homey, not even a place one could pay her to spend the night in, but it was better than dying from exposure outside. It took an extra few moments to notice, but to her right was an open door, leading to another room. She poked her head inside to examine. Another holding cell was in there, off to the side with a ceiling light was switched on inside it. A desk stood against the wall at the very end of the room, cloaked in shadow because the light from the holding cell could barely reach that far. Still, she ventured towards the desk in case it held some useful supplies.

"Ah, a visitor," said a male voice out of nowhere. Cathy stopped dead in her tracks, her spine going rigid. _Oh no._ She spun around quickly, expecting someone behind her, waiting in the doorway she just came through, but the place was deserted. She backtracked to the open door and stared into the room beyond, but nothing was there either.

"Seems I was mistaken," said the voice again. "One of Harvey's new recruits, perhaps?"

Wherever that voice was coming from, it knew she was there. There was no point in hiding. With a shuddering breath, Cathy inched backwards to the desk to grab the lamp on top of it as a weapon, pivoting every so often to search her surroundings.

"Where...where are you?" she replied, sliding her hand for the neck of the lamp.

"You need only turn around."

Cathy was definitely scared now. Her heart thumped behind her eyeballs, clouding her vision with white spots. Preferring to face her attacker head-on than get grabbed from behind, she spun on her heel and suddenly came face-to-face with someone else. She jolted back in fright, and the other person did the same. Her back hit the desk behind her and bent her spine backward over it, and...the other person did the same.

Cathy squinted and suddenly realized that the person that frightened her was her own _reflection._ Not even a mirrored one, but a transparent reflection in glass, a ghostly image of herself. Panting, she eased her body off the desk. The small of her back throbbed from the collision and she rubbed it to dull the pain.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to scare you," the voice said.

Cathy still didn't know where it was coming from. She searched the ceiling for a hidden camera or speaker. Finding nothing, she stared into the bulging eyes of her reflection for some sort of visual anchor and realized that there was a room beyond the image. Her eyes merely flicked to the side, and there, she found someone sitting inside. Despite the figure having been there the whole time, his sudden appearance into her line of sight startled Cathy and nearly caused her to leap into the desk again.

It was so dark inside the room that it was understandably difficult to actually spot the man. He sat on a bench in the back of the cell, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. What little light there was only illuminated his shiny bald head, his rounded belly clad in an orange jumpsuit, and his legs. Odd, black markings circled across his forehead, all the way around like a headband. Tattoos, maybe. They appeared to be tire tracks or something, but Cathy was standing too far away to know for sure, and she desperately hoped that he wouldn't come closer. She couldn't see the man's eyes, they were covered in deep shadow. For a second she had a frightening thought that maybe he had no eyes, but his face seemed to be following her movements. He could definitely see her.

The room was strangely decorated. Papers; several, hundreds, maybe thousands of them, wallpapered every inch of the small space. _Every_ inch. Even the floor and ceiling were covered with layer upon layer. The only flat surface that remained untouched was the sheet of plexiglass currently seperating the man from Cathy. Upon her taking a closer look, all of the papers seemed to have a large, black printed number on them. There was no pattern to their placement, each page simply had a random two digit number.

"If I could ask, when is your birthday?" the man said, breaking the silence.

"Um, November twentieth." Cathy was caught off-guard by the question.

"Ah, Children's Day in some parts," he said wistfully. "Tell me, miss, do you like children?"

Cathy didn't want to answer, instantly regretting telling him her real birthday. The man seemed to be waiting patiently for a reply. His hands were clasped in front of him in a conversational position, as though he was conducting an interview. Maybe he was, in some twisted way. Cathy kept her mouth closed and tightened her grip on her bag's shoulder-string for comfort.

The man's voice was whispery and gentle, so soft that Cathy almost strained to hear it. His words flowed like a lullaby, easy and calming. But something was wrong with it. Something that made Cathy want to get as far away as possible. Beneath it lied a subtle, inhuman quality - the gentleness in his voice was predatory.

"I won't tell anyone you're here," the man said enticingly after hearing nothing for an extended time. "You see, I'm a prisoner, too."

Cathy eyed him warily. "I can see that, it says so on your jumpsuit."

"What I mean is we're both here under circumstances we couldn't help."

Cathy's heart nervously revved. "You don't know that," she bluffed, "I could be in Arkham City for the exact same reason as you." _Sicko's probably booked for a huge number of reasons_, she thought with disgust.

The man started chuckling. Cathy involuntarily shivered. It was the most chilling laugh she had ever heard in her life. Instinctually, she took a step backward.

"Oh, I doubt that very much," said the man in his whispery tone. "I don't consider myself a boastful person, but I can admit that I employ a rather...unique approach to my methods."

Cathy itched to ask what he meant by methods, but judging by the fact that he was currently in a holding cell of a courthouse, she didn't have to stretch her imagination too far. To add to that, why was he in there in the first place? Was he forgotten? Left behind during the evacuation to starve and die?

"You know," the man said, shifting position and breaking Cathy's train of thought, "November the twentieth was only a couple days ago."

Though Cathy knew weeks ago that her birthday was coming up, the shut-down of Park Row was a more pressing concern. Still, she had been twenty-one for days now, all without her knowledge. Something stirred inside her, like the biological calendar in her body ticked from twenty to twenty-one and installed a new mind-set. How trivial a birthday seemed when one was trying to ensure that they'd see many more in the future.

The man got up onto his feet. Adrenaline rushed through Cathy. She wanted him to sit back down, stop from getting any closer. The man stepped into the light and she finally saw him in his entirety. His eyes, so bright and pale that they appeared to be colorless, stared dead into her own. He was much taller than she previously thought, standing at a guaranteed six feet and over. He lumbered towards her, dragging his right leg like it was dead weight. There appeared to be a heavy, platform boot and leg brace attached to it, stunting his walk.

"You could stay here for a while," he continued effortlessly, inching closer to the glass barrier. "We can make up for your lost time and have a celebration of our own."

Cathy didn't hear the last word, she was already sprinting and halfway out of the basement. Panicked bursts of noise escaped her throat, pushed out everytime her feet slapped the moist floor. Nearly throwing herself onto the staircase, she heaved and whimpered while climbing, desperate to widen the space between her and the man in the cell.

Her foot caught on a step and sent her careening forward. She yelped from surprise and her knees hit hard on the stairs. She threw out her hands to catch the step above, breaking her fall. Her palms scraped on floor gristle and greasy water, but she barely noticed. She was on her feet again, and threw all power into her legs, climbing for the courthouse's back door, the one that she entered through. She didn't hear anyone behind her but felt like somebody was chasing her, as if the man's presence continued looming over her shoulder long after he was out of sight.

Once she reached the landing, her sneakers squeaked and slid on the tiles. Leaping for the heavy door to the rear of the building, she violently threw it open. Cold air and a flurry of snowflakes blasted into her face. Wrenching the door shut behind her, she stepped cautiously away and panted, watching it, aware of the horrors beyond. She knew that the man wasn't going to give chase - if he had any way of getting out of his cell he would have done it while he had her as a captive audience - but the thought of him still followed her, and that is what she feared.

His words, soft as they were haunting, still hissed in Cathy's ears. She wanted to dig her fingers in them, pick out his voice piece by piece, but she knew she'd never be able to reach far enough. It nestled deep inside her mind and was guaranteed to linger long after he was gone.

* * *

**A/N: The new game's here today, I'm so excited! If Maxie Zeus makes any appearance in it, or gets his own Arkham Game makeover like the other villains, any resemblance to the way I'm going to write him here is completely coincidental. I've had this story and characters plotted out for a while.**


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